


Done II

by Nika_Bo



Series: DONE [2]
Category: Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nika_Bo/pseuds/Nika_Bo
Summary: The logical continuation from DONE.“Remember what I said to you in Italy?”“Yes."“Good.”Niall is giving Harry - and himself for that matter - some food for thought.





	Done II

Since I used Harry's Kansas City 2015 concert look (one of his hottest ever, imho) as inspiration for Niall's bj fantasy it was only logical to use it some more. This is a short one. Of course there will be a part III. Dealing with Niall and Harold after the Tattoo Roulette thing happenes on the Late Late show.

I'd like to dedicate this one to **_Dark.Stormy.Style_ s** and **_SensualStyle_ s** over on IG who delight me - several times - each day with absolutely fabulous (hehe) photo updates of their various Harry encounters on his US tour. So Sweetpeas, this one's for you two! Thanks for all the amazing Harryness. It makes me very, very happy!!!!

For all you others: feel free to enjoy it too! Read, comment, send me spare concert tickets you might have.

And don't forget: be kind, you're wonderful!

 

***

 

_Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City, July 28th 2015_

 

“Remember what I said to you in Italy?”

“Italy as in last year?”

“Yes.”

“You said a lot to me in Italy.”

“I meant what I whispered to you the morning after you had stayed over to apologise to me.”

“Oh, um…that… Yeah, I remember.”

“Good.”

Niall walks away and Harry is left in the green room looking utterly flabbergasted and with a question mark the size of North America hanging over his head.

***

They rock the stadium that night and Niall is secretly delighted about Harry who is his usual exuberant self with the audience _Scream if you wanna go fastaaa!_ but uncharacteristically shy around Niall. Which probably works in his favour because with all those water fights Harry looks like the poster boy of a dirty fantasy towards the end of the gig! Grey shirt soaked and clinging to his torso in all the right places, hair a dark, long mess around his face, eyes bright with adrenaline, he is the perfect amount of disheveled, exhausted, sexy rock star and the epitome of a wet dream.

Niall has to stop himself from jumping Harry right there and licking the sheen of sweat right off his gorgeous face. He wants to rip that shirt off that body and bury his head against that neck, lick a path from Harry’s jugular, across his collarbone and down that arm, along the bulging biceps to the very tip of Harry’s slender fingers, taste water and sweat and sun-kissed skin before sucking on his index until Styles gasps at the way Niall takes him down to the knuckles.

He wants to rake his fingernails across that ribcage, upset those swallows and that butterfly, place kisses on each individual tip of laurel leaves adorning Harry’s hips. He wants to devour and swallow and suck and lick and kiss. And he just. Wants.

Wants so badly that it is making him dizzy.

Maybe it’s the American heat stirring up his hormones or maybe it’s because since the departure of Zayn things have been kind of freefalling. Everything in turmoil. Maybe it’s the prospect of their hiatus and the very real chance he won’t be seeing Harry every day next to him on stage. He doesn’t even begin to fathom what that will be like.

So he tries not to think about the future, to just be in the moment and live this summer to the fullest, wishing it would never end, to stay suspended in time in this open stadium, under a clear blue summer sky, the screams of fans ringing in his ears, the bass from the band vibrating through his body.

This endless moment where everything is absolutely perfect, full of promise and Harry dancing a few feet away. Goofily, carefree, gorgeous, his eyes crinkling with happiness, smiling at Niall.

Radiant.

***

Horan has no idea how he survives the next 16 gigs of the US tour leg without throwing Harry down in the middle of the stage and climbing on top of him, touching and kissing and shouting mine, mine, mine!

His nights are a white-hot frenzy of feverish dreams, masturbation and frustrated headaches. His days desperate attempts to not run after Styles like a lovesick puppy, to keep his attention on the crowd and not his colleague who’s burning down a firework of charismatic stage presence, entertaining, singing his heart out, charming and enchanting the audience, the crew members, the bloody universe. To not stop all his own singing and movement to stand and stare at the wonder, heart bursting with emotion and desire coiling tight in his stomach while Harry burns brighter than ever and Niall knows he is the moth, fluttering ever closer.

Inescapable.

He uses the break before the London week at the O2 arena to get away from it all, runs around the fields in Mullingar as if he could outrun his own heart and its foolish desires, tries to outrun the entire last year and that morning in Milan when he finally realised what he wanted.

And not only if he were a girl. No. He wants. Niall wants. Niall wants Harry.

And perhaps he has wanted him all along. Ever since he first invited Harry to Ireland and taught him everything from milking cows to _Tha gu math!_ to drinking Guinness.

Perhaps he’s never realised how much he wants Harry because Harry was always there. Was already his, in a way. A way that was enough back then when it was laughter and pillow fights and football matches and answering silly interview questions and talking about the music and the future and recording songs between mattresses in hotel rooms and goofing about, chasing each other through empty arenas, hugging and cuddling on tour buses, homesick, missing the family.

A brother. So close, so accustomed.

Until it stopped, until something shifted and changed until cuddling wasn’t gonna be enough and something carnal awoke. Something fierce and primal and primitive, instinctual and adamant and hungry. Why has he reminded Harry of the morning in Milan? Why does he want him to remember? Does he want him to struggle with the idea? As he is. Trying to come to terms whether he wants to act on it? Turn it from a theory into a reality?

He doesn’t know. Yet. He needs to figure this out. Soon. It’s all coming to an end.

He needs more time. And he needs way more fields.

***


End file.
